


before this ends up as another memory

by WEEKENDHAZE



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bi Richie, College AU, Eddie is 18, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay Eddie, M/M, Pennywise doesn't exist, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, derry is still super desolate and sad, literally just gay fools getting ready for college, rated mature for language, stan/bill and bev/ben are already together, they're all 19, this takes place in like. 1994
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WEEKENDHAZE/pseuds/WEEKENDHAZE
Summary: the losers prepare to go to college. none of them quite know how to let go. maybe they just can't.the title is a lyric from 'are you bored yet?' by the wallows.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 11





	1. take me home

**Author's Note:**

> okay is really the first thing I've ever worked on by myself, and the first thing I've ever published anywhere myself so it's gonna be a mess for the first few chapters probably. I'll put some more notes/additional info at the end. hope you enjoy :)

They sat across from each other at the diner, the sounds of patrons lightly conversing and silverware clinking and children laughing floated about them. Everything was just at peace. It was a Sunday in March, everything had that warm fuzzy feeling when the snow started to melt and the birds started to come back home. Everything was just pleasant and warm and kind of perfect, a word Eddie had so rarely used. He appreciated using it today, given the circumstances.

They had been seated in a booth by the big window at the front, where you could see the cars pulling into the parking lot and families walking in for brunch after church or couples strolling in for a midday date. Or, if you were a patron sitting at this table before they had come in, you would’ve seen two boys, trying to trip each other on their undone shoelaces, kicking puddles at one another. Two boys _not on a date_. Just getting lunch. Just celebrating the fact that there was no snow, the fact that it was just about warm enough to wear short sleeves again. The fact that spring was here and everything was perfect.

“Eds, Eds come— ok, ow. Okay come on, come on, just give me a nickel,” Richie had pleaded with him as he flipped around a fork on the table, just missing poking himself in the eye.

“Richie, I know you’re gonna play the fucking YMCA and they’re gonna do the stupid dance and you promised you wouldn’t do that again after what happened not even like— what was it, a week ago?”

“Yes, but in my defense, the dance is a classic, a tradition of our childhood, and you refused to do it so I had to.”

“Bullshit, you did not have to do the dance. That was not a ‘have to’ moment, that was an ‘I’m Richie Tozier and I’m fucking stupid and I’m gonna scar Eddie by doing the YMCA dance in the middle of a diner’ kind of moment.”

But Richie had already ceased listening. He was emptying all of his pockets for any kind of coin he could find that the tiny jukebox on the far edge of the table might accept. All that came out was three balls of lint, a black and red checkered guitar pick, and an old tattered metal lighter with his initials carved on the back. He sighed in defeat and rested his forehead gently on the countertop.

“That’s disgusting, get that off the table.”

“It’s just lint, Eddie. It’s not gonna kill you, just brush it off.”

“Jesus, Rich, it’s your lint, you take care of it,” he scoffed, folding his arms tight to his chest. He shot Richie a glare from across the table. He obliged and brushed it off the table with the back of his hand, and tucked the remaining items securely back into his pocket.

They waited silently for their food, kicking each other under the table and thumb wrestling. It was kind of nice, kind of comforting. Like they were little kids again. Just two twelve-year-olds, kicking dirt and crushing bugs. They’d graduated the summer prior, and everyone was just kind of biding their time until they all left for school or travel or whatever they’d decided on doing. It was just an unspoken rule amongst them. They didn’t talk about what they’d do after school because they knew that at that point they’d be apart, and they couldn’t talk about it without someone - or all of them— getting hurt. Eddie was leaving for college in Oregon, Reed College. The lowest acceptance rate in the state. He’d only told a couple of his friends, just Stan and Bev. He was dreading telling Richie because anytime one of the losers had announced their plans for anything regarding leaving, Richie just up and left. Didn’t say a word, and sometimes wouldn’t talk to them again for days. But when he came back he acted like everything was completely okay. He had to tell him soon, though, because they’d all only have so much time together before they all had to go. He wanted to make every day count.

They had stopped kicking and fighting, for the time being, just drinking in the sounds and the smells of the diner. They sat with their heads in their hands, propped up on their elbows, just glancing around, observing customers and catching bits of fleeting conversations. But Richie wasn’t. Richie was watching Eddie, observing the way he observed. He felt his eyes on him but said nothing. Instead, he reached down and took the wrapper off of his straw and balled it up tightly, tossing it towards his face. It had just grazed the corner of his mouth and caught him off guard. He chuckled and lightly tossed it back at him, missing by a long shot. They returned to the comfortable silence, Eddie watching everyone, Richie watching Eddie.

“You’re staring,” Eddie muttered, still avoiding meeting his gaze.

“What?”

Eddie then turned to meet his eyes. He looked focused and exhausted and something else he couldn’t quite figure out, but it was a miracle anytime he could figure out what was going on in his head anyways.

“You’re staring. Are you okay? You look… Tired.”

“Great question! No, I’m exhausted.” He did his god awful sports announcer voice, loud enough to turn heads at the booth behind them.

“Maybe if you weren’t following a nocturnal sleep cycle you wouldn’t be so tired all the time. Plus, smoking can drain your energy.”

“Oh, did Mrs. K tell you that?”

“Nope, WebMD.”

“Shocker,” Richie spoke lowly, toying with his fork again. He had this weird edge in his voice, something Eddie had only heard a couple times before, like when he and his mom got into it about school. That edge usually told Eddie _please just leave me the fuck alone, I’m not gonna talk about it so don’t ask,_ so he decided he wasn’t gonna dig at it.

“Hasn’t it been like, an hour since we ordered? It’s not even that packed in here.”

“Yeah, maybe if you hadn’t asked the waitress for a nickel then it wouldn’t be taking so long, Rich.”

“At least I asked nicely! Whatever, let’s just go, we can eat something at mine.”

And at that, Richie abruptly stood and stretched his arms over his head, yawning obnoxiously. Eddie watched him, rolled his eyes, and followed him out to his car. It was this old beat up thing that his dad had bought him when he turned seventeen. Eddie remembered the day he got it. His dad had told his friends that he’d gotten him a car, and he’d showed them and everything, and suggested maybe they get him stuff to go with the car. That was his way at hinting _ Richie doesn’t know how to save his money and is probably gonna need some for gas to start him off with it. _ Eddie picked up the hint but opted for a set of these big plush black dice with flames rolling up the sides that he could hang from the rearview mirror. It made him happy to know that he still used them. And even though this thing was just a million-year-old metal box with wheels, Richie still took pretty good care of it. He kept it mostly clean and took it in for maintenance, only when there was a problem that Eddie or Mike didn’t know how to fix themselves.

Once they were seated in the car, Richie just kind of sat there for a minute. He didn’t put the keys in the ignition, he just blinked out at the parking lot. His eyes were sort of glazed over, and he looked like he might actually pass out. It looked almost as if he hadn’t noticed Eddie had gotten in the car.

“Alright, I’m driving, get out,” Eddie said matter-of-factly, unbuckled his seatbelt, and stepped out of the car.

“What? Eddie, no, I’m good, come on get back in.”

“Listen, I’m not gonna die in a car accident because you were up too late doing… Whatever it is that you do until four in the morning. Come on.”

He’d hoped that he’d gotten the point across with his tone, which he tried to make stern and apologetic, but it probably sounded mostly just angry. But Richie got out of the driver’s seat without further argument and walked past Eddie and into the passenger seat. He fastened his seatbelt and tossed his head back against the headrest.

“Alright, take me home, Eds,” he batted his eyelashes and put on his best Southern Belle voice that he could.

“Ugh, shut up and go to sleep.”

“I’m on it.”

And with that, Richie was curling his knees up to his chest and shifting towards Eddie in his seat. He looked at him one more time, glancing over his features, before blinking his eyes shut slowly and falling asleep the whole ride home.


	2. familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> richie and eddie hang out at richie's house. richie is off, and eddie definitely sees it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this chapter before I was hoping to, which is kind of good because now I can get a jumpstart on the next one which is gonna be a little longer. hope you guys like it :)

The ride back to Richie’s was long and almost silent, with an exception to Richie’s heavy breathing and the quiet static that played from the car radio. It’d been broken months ago, just after they’d graduated. Richie had almost put his foot through it when he jumped into the car just a little too enthusiastically. He figured it wasn’t worth it to let Eddie or Mike or even himself was time on trying to figure it out because he’d always played cassettes in the car anyway. Always his weird and shitty music that bugged most of the losers, except Bev, because he played back to back entirely songs with no common theme, except for one: they were always super loud and incredibly bass-heavy.

There wasn’t much traffic to drive through because it was midday on a Sunday, but Eddie took back roads back to the house anyway. He figured he’d rather not destroy Richie’s car in a highway accident, however unlikely that was. Besides, he liked to watch the trees pass by in a blur on the backroads, surrounded by the thick woods of Maine. Of Derry. It may have been on the outskirts of town, but it was still Derry. Still desolate and weirdly segregated and tired. Just a sleepy little Maine town. But Eddie reminded himself that it couldn’t hold anything over him anymore. In six months’ time, he’d be gone. And even though he was supposed to find hope in that thought, he couldn’t. Because yeah, he’d be leaving Derry in the dust, off to start his new life. But he’d also be leaving anything he’d ever known. Including the losers.

They pulled into the center of town shortly after beginning their ride, and it wasn’t anything new. It never was. But Eddie figured he’d do his best to appreciate the sights of the town anyways, however few there were. The landmarks of his childhood, soon to be forgotten as he left for something brighter. He pulled onto a street across from the Aladdin, where he quickly spotted Richie’s house. There weren’t any other cars in the driveway, which he assumed to be normal because his parents were either out of town or just at work a lot. He knew they definitely wouldn’t be at church, as his mother would be, they weren’t that kind of family. He pulled into the driveway and put the car in park, but kept his hands on the wheel for a few minutes, wary of waking Richie up. He still looked tired even as he slept, brow furrowed and mouth slightly agape. He watched his chest rise and fall evenly as he faced him, deciding on how to best go about this. He couldn’t just leave him in the car to sleep, that probably wasn’t the best idea. He reached across the space between them and pushed a small strand of hair out of his face, delicately brushing his forehead. This wasn’t how he wanted to wake him up. He wanted to do what he usually did, lean in closely and shout something at him or flick his forehead or something of that nature. But he didn’t.  _ What the fuck. _ Richie huffed out a breath in his sleep as if he had felt Eddie. But he didn’t move nor wake. He stayed in the same position, still asleep. Eddie reached up his hand again and pressed the tip of his index finger to the pad of his thumb, and placed it right by the tip of Richie’s nose. He hesitated for a second, but then pulled his thumb away. Richie’s body jolted a bit from the shock of the light touch, but then he was blinking his eyes open and furrowed his eyebrows once again at Eddie.

“Did you just… Did you flick me?”

“Payback for all those times you poured water on me,” Eddie laughed quietly, “or screamed or did stupid shit like that.”

“Eds that was barely payback at all for that, but it’s sweet that you think that.”

“Shut up, I did my best. We’re here.”

They stepped out of the car, and Richie stood and stretched obnoxiously again. Eddie had figured that it was because he had such weird and gangly limbs that he constantly had to get them back into the right shape. When they were kids they’d been about the same height, maybe an inch or two in difference. But when they hit sixteen, Richie grew a whole head taller than him. Eddie had only grown three or four extra inches. The pinnacle of most of Richie’s Eddie related bits. Which was entirely annoying. But thinking of their childhood put this odd twinge in Eddie’s chest. Something lost. Or something he couldn’t obtain. It made him want to itch inside his chest and pull it out, whatever it was. But his thoughts were cut off by Richie doing something annoying, again. He was trying to flat tire him as he walked up to the front door.

“I swear to god if you trip me then I get to murder you.”

“What is that like a rule? Who instituted that?”

“No one, I’m just putting it out there that if you make me fall then that’s the consequence.”

“Geez, harsh,” Richie muttered as he kept pressing the toe of his boot against the heel of Eddie’s sneaker as he went up the front steps, “you wouldn’t do that, would you spaghetti?”

“I will if you ever call me that again.”

And then they were in the house. Richie’s house hadn’t changed in probably ten years. The walkway was always crowded with shoes and jackets, and a bowl of keys on the little table by the door that no one ever touched because they didn’t know what they unlocked. There was a crack in the drywall to the left of the door from when Bill had accidentally pushed Mike into it when they were playing tag in the house, which wasn’t usually allowed, but Richie’s mom wasn’t home so it didn’t matter to them at the time. Eddie slipped off his shoes and put them side by side next to the door, which earned a scoff from Richie. He’d insisted that it didn’t matter if they wore shoes inside because they’d all done it on accident so many times that the rule was disregarded. But Eddie never walked past the threshold with his shoes still on, no matter whose house it was. He followed Richie into the kitchen so they could make lunch, and he saw a pile of mail on the countertop with a sticky note that had Richie’s name scrawled out in black ink. He couldn’t make out who the letters were all from before Richie swept them off the counter with one swift swipe of his arm and into the garbage bin below.

“You know that’s like… A federal offense, right? Mail Tampering?”

“Not if it’s your mail, dumbass.”

“Since when do you get  _ mail _ ?”

“Since none of your business. Are eggs good? That’s pretty much all we’ve got.”

“Uh, yeah, eggs are fine.”

Eddie decided, once again, that he wasn’t gonna push. He had that weird edge in his voice that he knew meant to back off. So he did. He pulled a pan out from under the stove and a spatula from the cabinet. After Richie had closed the fridge, he walked back over and opened it again. He pulled out a red pepper and an onion, and milk and cheese because of course, Richie would forget that he’d need them. He grabbed a cutting board and a small blade from a cabinet under the counter and began chopping the vegetables.

“What in god’s name are you doing?” Richie questioned, putting his hands on his hips as he watched Eddie carefully slice and chop.

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re trying to make these omelets healthy.”

“Incredible observation, Sherlock.”

“Can we not just have regular, cholesterol loaded omelets?”

Eddie just shook his head and kept on chopping. He added them to a bowl with the eggs Richie had cracked and a little bit of milk, and he let Richie take care of the rest because the last time he tried to cook on an actual stove he burned the palm of his hand and made his mother lose her mind. Or what was left of it. So he sat and watched Richie cook and listen to him hum quietly to some song in his head. It was something familiar, something Eddie knew but couldn’t quite place. Maybe it wasn’t the song. All of a sudden, the phone started ringing from the living room. Eddie looked over his shoulder as he listened to it ring. One, two, three times, before he said anything.

“You know your phone’s ringing, right?”

“Yep.” His response was sharp, and he didn’t even look over.

“Okay. Do you wanna pick it up or anything?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

And everything was tense again. This wasn’t Richie. Richie didn’t go quiet like this, like he wasn’t being allowed to speak. He didn’t ignore phone calls, especially when his parents weren’t home. And he always looked at people when he was talking, or when they were talking, no matter what it was. Because he wanted to make sure that someone knew he was engaged in the conversation. That he cared about what was being said. So yeah, this wasn’t Richie.

He turned off the stove and put the omelets on two glass plates in silence, but he didn’t look angry. He didn’t look anything. He was just kind of there, on autopilot. He sat down next to Richie at the counter, plate in front of him, but he didn’t pick up his fork. He just kind of sat there, staring down at his hands. Eddie reached over and put a hand on top of his from where they were on the counter. Richie was always comforted by physical affection, he always needed to touch or be touched. It’s just a comfort thing, and the losers have always obliged. They never say anything, but they know when he needs comfort and they go along. But Richie still doesn’t move. He still just watches his hands for a few moments. And Eddie still doesn’t ask, and Richie still doesn’t talk. They just sit like that for a while, hand over hand, in a familiar silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways this was a Mess of a process to write and it's kind of messy but the next one's gonna (probably) be a little different. hope you guys liked it, and the next part will hopefully be up late next week :)


	3. the quarry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the losers meet up at the quarry, and richie is fine. totally and completely fine.

They didn’t discuss what had happened at Richie’s house that day. Not when Richie abruptly stood and walked into the bathroom for upwards of half an hour, and not when he came back out and told Eddie he ‘had stuff to get done’ as a gentle urge for him to leave. And not even when Eddie didn’t see him until the next Friday at the Quarry with the other losers, just as obnoxiously positive in his own weird way, as if nothing had even happened. As if he didn’t dodge all of Eddie’s and Bev’s calls for almost a full fucking week and then just miraculously show up. And Eddie was just going to do his best to not lose it on him for pulling that shit.

“Mikey, Mike baby, please. It’s like a thousand degrees out.” Richie pleaded, hands held tightly in front of his face from the ledge where they’d all sat. He craned his neck up to look at him, doing his best puppy dog eyes.

“Richie, I’m not gonna let you jump. Seriously, I’ll restrain you if you try it. It’s probably only forty out and I’m not gonna take care of you if you get hypothermia.” Mike did his best not to laugh at Richie’s face, pouty lip and wide eyes. Richie drops the act and shoves his palm into his shoulder, which more throws Richie off balance than it does mike.

“Whatever, you guys are all just cowards scared of a good time.” He sat back and laid across the rock, letting his eyes shutter closed in the bright sun.

“Y’know,” Ben started, pointedly leaning back on his hands to watch Richie’s reaction from behind Mike, “My aunt got hypothermia from swimming too early. Paralyzed her from the waist down.”

Richie’s eyes snapped open, and Ben just laughed, tossing his head back. Eddie smiled and turned his face towards the sun. This was easy. They were easy. Listening to Ben’s laugh was easy and sweet, like listening to the birds’ songs. Making fun of Richie was easy and familiar, something that’s always been done amongst them. Watching Bill and Stan sitting by the trees, listlessly holding hands and looking up at the sky was sickening but easy. The same thing with Bev and Ben, watching them with arms sweetly around the other, whispering sweet nothings. Sickeningly sweet and easy. Everything was easy with the losers, which is why Eddie was kind of having a hard time imagining going on without them. And soon enough Eddie is swept up in just watching them. Observing their quirks, things they’d done every day for years on end and wondering why now it was hard to draw himself away from them. And he thinks maybe this is all he has, all he is. A collection of quirks and memories and overused jokes between friends, plastered against a cliff in the middle of Maine. Something about thinking like that, like he wasn’t his own person, made him feel a little sick. And he must’ve shown it on his face because then Richie was poking at his sides from where he laid back against the dirt, feet dangling over the sides, kicking the nothing that was below him.

“Hey, where are you?”

“I’m freezing my ass off at the quarry with you, dipshit.” Eddie played it off and smacked his hand away from his side, fingers poking dully at his ribs.

“No, shut up, I mean-- shut up, you’re deflecting.” He sighed as he threw his hand back against his glasses, palm faced up at the sky. Eddie visibly cringed at the idea of the smudges that would be left behind when he lifted his hand again.

“I’m shocked you know what that word even means.”

“Hey, fuck you, mister  _ I passed sophomore year English class with a 79 _ .”

“Are you joking? You’re really gonna hold that over my head right now?” Eddie said through a fit of laughter that came out of almost nowhere, landing light punches against Richie’s shoulder. “That was over two years ago, shut the entire fuck up.”

“As much as we’d like to stay and watch you two bicker,” Stan spoke up from behind them, brushing nonexistent dirt from his knees, “we have lunch plans, so we’ll see you guys.”

“Hell yeah, go get some Bill.”

And with that, the group simultaneously groaned, and Stan and Bill were off with a wave. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, laying back against the sun of spring. Silence was something that they rarely found with one another, so it was different and weird but kind of perfect, and Eddie basked in it. Because it was just another thing that was easy to him. Easy to listen to the water and the wind and not feel like he needs to say anything about it, he can just be present. And so he is. He lays back against the dirt below him, warmed by the sun, and kicks his feet off the edge. He lets his eyes shut and his breathing even out and enjoys the moment. He enjoys little giggles from Ben and Bev, speaking their own language at their own quarry. He enjoys Richie swinging his legs around from where they’re hanging off the edge, shoes knocking shoes, the sun warm and welcoming on their skin. Soon enough, he’s asleep, plastered to the edge of the world. The edge of his world.

When he wakes up, the sun is still high in the sky, and he feels heavy, like he might sink right into the earth. He blinks his eyes open, shielding them from the brightness of the sun with the back of his hand. He slowly sits up and looks around. He’s alone. He fell asleep and everyone left him. He starts to panic, starts to wonder how he’s gonna get home.  _ What a fucking asshole move, they know my mom’s gonna flip out, I don’t even have- _ his thoughts are quickly cut off when he feels a hand firmly plant itself against his shoulder. He doesn’t have to turn to know who it is, but he does anyway, and of course, it’s Richie.

“Hey, you passed out.” He removes his hand to push himself up off the ground, trying to dodge his eyes. He’s doing a pretty bad job at hiding it, Eddie thinks. “Ben and Bev had to take off, said they had work or something. And Mike had… Whatever, I wasn’t really listening.”

“Oh, okay. What time is it?” He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands, and then pushed himself up.

“I don’t know, don’t you have a watch or something?” Richie scoffed.

“No, what the fuck- why are you so testy all of a sudden? Did something happen while I was asleep or are you just being a dick?”

“Nothing happened, I just-” And then he met Eddie’s eyes. He looked exhausted. The losers all knew his sleep schedule was fucked, but Eddie had never seen him like this. He held his gaze for a moment before speaking again. “Can we just go? Please?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Rich, let’s go.” Eddie wasn’t so angry anymore. He spoke softly and followed him back to his car.

In the car, Richie had Eddie take out a shallow box of cassette tapes from underneath his seat and find a specific one, with the yellow label scrawled with incoherent ramblings about the ‘mood of the songs’, something Eddie would definitely bully him for later. But not now. Something about trying to make a joke made Eddie feel like there were pins under his skin, ready to make him pop. So he put the cassette in its slot and let the songs drawl out. Most of them were angry and loud, which wasn’t new. But it was new that Richie didn’t tap the pads of his thumbs against the steering wheel or scream along. He just held his gaze on the road and kept driving. Back to Eddie’s house.

Once they pulled into the driveway, Richie put the car in park but didn’t say a word to him. He just kept his eyes fixed out on the hood of his car as if waiting for something. Waiting for it to roar back to life and take off back down the road again, out of Derry, out of sight. But it didn’t, it stayed idle and Richie still didn’t move. Eddie sat still for a couple of moments, maybe one too many. But then he opened the door and planted his feet on the asphalt and stood, crouched over so he could still see Richie’s face. He didn’t look at him, didn’t speak, it didn’t even look like he was breathing. Seeing him like this was sickening. Seeing any of his friends like this would’ve been because this wasn’t them. But right now it was Richie, and it was so far from what he was always like. What he was supposed to be like. And before he could stop himself, Eddie was breaking the silence, suddenly and loudly.

“Okay, I’m fucking sick of this. What is your problem?” Eddie does his best to keep his voice down, but it’s difficult when you’re about to start a shitstorm with your best friend of six years.

“What?” Richie finally turns to look at him, and when he speaks, it doesn’t sound like a question at all. It’s almost a statement, like he doesn’t know either.

“You’ve been weird all day. And not even just today. What the fuck was that about last week when we went to go get breakfast? You just ignored me and kicked me out and then dodged me for a week. What even is that? That’s just- that’s such middle school shit. Just fucking talk to me, please.”

  
And Eddie’s frozen. His voice cracks and he probably spits at some point and he feels messy and clumsy but then he’s frozen. And so is Richie. Neither of them says another word for a few minutes. Richie turns his head back to the wheel but doesn’t do anything. His hands are still gripping the wheel, knuckles white and jaw tensed. And Eddie kind of wants to push him. Wants to make him stand up and just shove him for making him feel like this, feel like anything. Richie stands up, and it’s fast and harsh and he’s pushing the car door open with so much force that Eddie thinks it might actually fall off of the hinges, same as when he slams it back shut. He stands from across the car, looking at Eddie from over the roof. He moves his hands to his hips, and Eddie tries to bite back a laugh. He looks kind of like his mother. They hold their gaze, and Eddie’s face softens. There’s a look on Richie’s face that he can’t decipher. His features look angry, furrowed eyebrows and red cheeks, the corners of his mouth are turned down. But his eyes don’t.  _ Wait, fuck, is he crying? _ And Eddie gently shuts the car door. He makes his way around the front of the car so that he’s standing right in front of Richie. His hands are still on his hips when he’s walking over, but as Eddie comes to stand in front of him, less than a foot of space between them, he drops them to his side. Eddie does the same, from where his were crossed in front of his chest. Then, he takes Richie by the forearm, his grip light so that if Richie wanted to pull away he could. But he doesn’t, he just follows Eddie as he walks him up the steps. Into his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took me so long !! we had a holiday break which I totally could've been using for writing, but then I got really caught up in school work. But here's this !! not super happy with it but I felt like I needed to update anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope anyone who ended up reading that enjoyed it !! I'm gonna be doing my best to be updating weekly. anyways the rest of this will be an absolute Mess.


End file.
